


Welcoming the New Year

by Ollieollieupandfree



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Festivals, How Do I Tag, New Year's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 09:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13455591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ollieollieupandfree/pseuds/Ollieollieupandfree
Summary: Eönwë stresses over Manwë planning a festival. It ends better than he thought.





	Welcoming the New Year

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. I love my bird boy. Really. I do. But he is a fucking idiot.
> 
> Written as a gift for one of my best friend's ever! I love them!
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr at @im-basic-but-ur-the-bitch or as Mod Manwë @incorrect-middleearth-quotes. Hit my friend up on tumblr @justadutchperson or as Mod Eönwë @incorrect-middleearth-quotes.

 

The new year was swiftly approaching, and Eönwë was considerably less excited than the other residents of Valinor. Eönwë enjoyed festivals as much as any other. What he did not like as much as any other, was the planning of festivals. Oh, sure, everyone thought they were simple to plan. Do this and this and this and then sit back as it all goes perfectly. But Eönwë, as Manwë’s greatest friend and advisor - outside of the Vala’s wife - was put in charge of all those things. Or, at least, he was supposed to be.

 

You see, what was so stressful about this certain festival for New Year’s Day was that Manwë had decided that he, in all his glory and wisdom, would arrange the festival this year. Eönwë, consumed by work whenever festivals came around, had thought he'd be glad with this development. And he was, save for the fact that Manwë - in all his glory and wisdom - did not know how to plan a party.

 

And so it was that Eönwë had even more work at the behest of Varda. Fix everything Manwë does wrong, do  _ not  _ alert to him that he has done it incorrectly and congratulate him when he is done. Eönwë loved his friend and liege, but he had always thought that Varda was too. . .  _ indulgent  _ of Manwë’s moods and child-like nature. Alas, he would not dare to disobey Varda. Not only because she was his queen, but also because she was his friend. And, also, she made this face when you disappointed her that was absolutely heartbreaking and so he really couldn’t bear to.

 

Running a hand through his orange curls, Eönwë fixed the orders that Manwë had made for the food of the feast.

 

‘I did wonder why the order was so odd,’ joked the cook when Eönwë corrected the order. The cook was an Elf whose name Eönwë had long forgotten, but whom the other Elves called Cookie.

 

‘Yes, my lord had decided it is high time he learn to arrange a festival,’ answered Eönwë. Cookie smiled at him and then bustled off to inform her workers of the changes.

 

‘Eönwë,’ Eönwë sighed but turned to the older maia that called for him.

 

‘Yes, Olórin?’ asked Eönwë.

 

‘We need your help arranging the tables. Also,’ here, Olórin hesitated and ruffled his silver hair. Even when he took a younger form, Olórin preferred the silver hair of the old, ‘ _ He  _ wants to see you.’

 

‘Does he wish for me especially or can you handle it?’ asked Eönwë.

 

‘You know how he likes you,’ answered Olórin.

 

‘Oh, all right. I assume he is in the entrance hall?’ Olórin nodded, ‘All right. I shall join you in the feast hall after I have dealt with his lordship.’ Eönwë said this honorific with a great measure of distaste cOlóring his voice. Even if it had not been for the open back to his tunic that revealed the ruffled gold feathers on Eönwë’s wings, Olórin would have known he was upset. The younger maia did not like dealing with his lord’s brother.

 

‘My lord,’ said Eönwë, executing a stiff bow. Melkor smiled, revealing the small, sharp, white teeth that decorated his pink gums. Like most of the Valar, Melkor preferred a form more similar to the Maia and Elves, a form which Eönwë found far more frightening than the personification of fire and darkness that was Melkor’s natural form.

 

‘Eönwë! I am glad to see you,’ said Melkor. Long had Melkor had a particularly odd fascination with Eönwë, and the maia suspected it was more out of the want to steal him from his brother than any real affection towards Eönwë.

 

‘You sent for me,’ said Eönwë firmly, ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

 

‘I wondered if you might need some help? I know how you despise arranging these festivals for my brother,’ said Melkor.

 

Eönwë smiled tightly, ‘Alas, I need no assistance. For, you see, Manwë has deemed it appropriate that he arrange the festival this year. I have no work to do, aside from that of my standard job.’

 

‘Oh!’ exclaimed Melkor, a false happiness in his voice.

 

‘But,’ said Eönwë, ‘There is a certain maia in Aule’s forges that I am sure would be glad for your company. Mairon has quite a lot of work to do, and I just know that he would appreciate the help.’

 

If there was one person that could distract Melkor from his constant jealousy of his brother and affection-less pursuit of Eönwë, it was Mairon, whose macabre humor and love of fire and the forge was always sure to truly endear himself to Melkor. The vala smiled and turned, heading towards the forges.

 

‘Hello, Mairon,’ greeted Eönwë as he walked into the feast hall, ‘Helping with the tables?’

 

‘Indeed,’ answered Mairon with a smile, ‘I figured you would need the help to do it quickly, before Lord Manwë noticed. Is it true he wishes to arrange it all on his own this year?’

 

‘Indeed, it is,’ said Eönwë, ‘Although his lady wife knows better than to trust his abilities on such things that he has no idea about.’

 

‘A great lord he is, but I would not trust him to arrange a simple party for his family, much less a festival,’ said Arien, a smile gracing her lips as she looked upon the winged ginger.

 

‘I am glad you are here, Arien,’ said Eönwë, ‘We need someone of good judgement with these two around.’ Eönwë sent a playful glare towards Olórin and Mairon, who laughed and continued arguing over who could move the most tables at once. Although Eönwë knew they could lift the same amount, he greatly hoped they would drop one on themselves. Then they might learn not to do foolish things such as that.

 

‘Where should we actually put these tables?’ asked Arien.

 

‘Arrange them in a circular shape. You know how the lords and ladies all hate to feel inferior to each other.’ Eönwë gestured the tables around, and they moved on their own. Although he had the great strength of the maia and the magic as well, Eönwë also had the slightest control over the winds; a gift from Manwë that he put to good use. Olórin had tried once, at last year’s festival, to harness the winds as Eönwë did, but only ended up setting the table on fire. A fact which none of the maia let him forget.

 

‘Have you seen Curumo?’ asked Olórin after they had finished with the tables.

 

‘Not all day,’ answered Eönwë, ‘Will you help with the placards, or shall I let his lordship attempt that?’

 

‘I really should find him,’ said Olórin, shooting Eönwë an apologetic look before swiftly leaving the room. Eönwë looked to the other two.

 

‘I must return to the forges. I am sure my lord shall be wondering where I have got off to,’ said Mairon, hurrying off. Eönwë looked to Arien, confused as to why the other two had to leave so suddenly when their tasks were not so important. Arien’s eyes were locked on something behind him.

 

‘I should. . .’ said she, edging to the door, ‘Return to Laurelin. Goodbye, Eönwë.’ She near sprinted out of the doors. Eönwë, puzzled, turned and found himself staring into the piercing light blue eyes of his lord.

 

‘M-my lord!’ Eönwë dropped in a hasty kneel before Manwë, avoiding the bright as lightning eyes of the vala before him.

 

‘This isn’t how I said to arrange the tables,’ said Manwë, sounding more puzzled than angry. Eönwë, still with his head down, went on to explain;

 

‘No, my lord. But it is because I figured that in a circular shape, nobody was above one another and therefore everybody was equal. It was an attempt to not anger the other lords and ladies by implying that they were less powerful than you, my lord.’

 

Manwë looked down at Eönwë, his cloud white eyebrows quirked.

 

‘Why are you kneeling as such? Never before have you done such a thing,’ said Manwë.

 

Internally, Eönwë grew quite angered at his lord’s naivate. Externally, he merely said, ‘I was afraid of angering you, my lord.’

 

‘Oh,’ said Manwë, ‘You need never be afraid of such a thing, Eönwë. You are a great servant and I appreciate all that you do.’ Eönwë smiled and nodded, standing and and brushed the dirt of the floor off his white harem pants and their panel.

 

‘Worry not, my lord,’ said Eönwë, ‘I know you appreciate me. And that is why I was wondering if you would appreciate if I took over the remaining preparations? Certainly there are more important things for the King of the Valar to be doing than planning some petty festival.’ If there was one way that Melkor and Manwë were similar, it was in their egos. Inflate the ego of either, and you could have them do whatever you wished them to.

 

‘Oh, no, that is quite all right, Eönwë! I am having great fun!’ exclaimed Manwë, lightning crackling on his finger tips. He clapped Eönwë harshly on the shoulder, shocking the winged maia more than he intended, before walking off.

 

‘I shall go apologize to the lords and ladies in advance then,’ said Eönwë, walking off and sneering down at the ruined silk of his tunic. It was blackened and burnt against his skin at the painful shock from his lord.  Eönwë could not help but think that this might be an apt metaphor for how the festival would go.

 

❁❀✾✿❃✽✤❋✣❊❁❀✾✿❃✽✤❋✣❊

 

The festival was not going nearly as badly as Eönwë had expected, although from the conspirital grins of Varda and Yavanna, he guessed that his ladyship and her dearest friend had stepped in and taken over. Although, perhaps in a much more subtle way than Eönwë had, as Manwë still looked quite proud of himself. Eönwë carefully picked over to Varda and Yavanna, smiling.

 

‘You have done well, my ladies,’ said he, smiling up at them from his bow. Yavanna smiled down at her, as many flowers in her golden hair as there was stars in her greatest friend’s. Eönwë had always found Yavanna to be far more beautiful than Varda, but perhaps that was because he had more contact with Varda and had grown blind to her beauty.

 

‘Now, now, little Eönwë,’ said Yavanna, beckoning the maia to stand, ‘Say it too loud and you shall alert our dear king to our interference.’ Varda looked around, and her purple-white eyes locked on something that made a smile bloom on her dark lips.

 

‘Midnight fast approaches, and I should find my husband,’ said Varda. She nudjed Yavanna, who followed her gaze and a smile spread on her own pink lips.

 

‘Indeed, I should as well,’ said Yavanna.

 

‘Eönwë, I believe that there is one maiden that craves your attention,’ said Varda.

 

Clothed in gold and the light of Laurelin, Arien was more radiant than Eönwë had ever seen her, Although she was not dressed that different from her usual clothes, perhaps it was that Eönwë was viewing her in a way different than he had before.

 

‘Arien,’ said Eönwë, a smile gracing his lips, although he felt severely underdressed in front of his beautiful friend, ‘You look lovely tonight. I mean. You always look lovely. But tonight you look. . . radiant.’

 

Arien laughed, ‘Thank you, Eönwë. You look. . .’ her eyes fell to his shoulder, ‘Handsome.’ Eönwë followed her gaze and winced, realizing he had never changed his tunic from the one Manwë had ruined earlier.

 

‘My lord was excited,’ said Eönwë. Arien’s smile seemed to fall for just a second, but it was back before Eönwë had time to ascertain whether he had imagined it at all.

 

‘Indeed,’ said Arien, ‘And I see the festival is going smoothly.’

 

‘Yes,’ said Eönwë, ‘Although, perhaps, it was because Ladies Varda and Yavanna stepped in.’ Eönwë’s face lit up, and this time he very clearly saw Arien’s smile drop. It was common knowledge within the maia of the affection Eönwë held for Yavanna, and indeed even she knew it. And, it seemed, that all but Eönwë knew of Arien’s equally great affection for him.

 

The big clock struck midnight and Eönwë observed as Varda pressed a loving kiss to Manwë’s lips, Yavanna to Aule’s, and many more couples to their respective loves. Eönwë laughed as Mairon surprised Melkor by placing a hesitent kiss on his cheek. And was shocked when, in a moment of bravery, Arien pressed her own kiss to Eönwë’s cheek.

 

Her lips were hot and rough, chapped by the constant heat her body radiated. Eönwë’s cheeks reddened under the press of her lips and turned, catching her around the waist with one arm and the neck with the other. Her pulled her down, fingers tangled in her warm red-gold hair, and gently presssed their lips together, his wings spreading out behind him.

 

Perhaps, Eönwë thought as they separated, that Manwë was better at planning festivals than he thought.


End file.
